


Day 26: Can't Make a Sound

by Venusdoom3



Series: 30 Day Stucky Porn Challenge [26]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, Angst and Porn, Bottom Steve Rogers, Breaking and Entering, Bucky Barnes Returns, Lonely Steve Rogers, M/M, Not Strictly CA:CW Compliant, POV First Person, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Quiet Sex, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8543218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venusdoom3/pseuds/Venusdoom3
Summary: I awaken with a hand over my mouth and a dark figure looming over me.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know I could easily have made the "can't make a sound" chapter take place before or during the war because of period-typical homophobia, blah blah... but I didn't want to. I hope this works just as well!
> 
> Come cry about the tragedy that is Bucky's life with me on [tumblr](http://venusdoom3.tumblr.com)! 
> 
> 1\. ~~Naked cuddles~~  
>  2\. ~~Naked kissing~~  
>  3\. ~~Masturbation~~  
>  4\. ~~Blowjob~~  
>  5\. ~~Clothed getting off~~  
>  6\. ~~First time~~  
>  7\. ~~Half dressed~~  
>  8\. ~~Skype/Facetime sex~~  
>  9\. ~~Against the wall~~  
>  10\. ~~Doggy style~~  
>  11\. ~~Caught/walked in on~~  
>  12\. ~~Fingering~~  
>  13\. ~~Rimming~~  
>  14\. ~~69~~  
>  15\. ~~Sweet and passionate~~  
>  16\. ~~Public sex~~  
>  17\. ~~On the floor~~  
>  18\. ~~Lazy morning sex~~  
>  19\. ~~Outdoors~~  
>  20\. ~~Your own kink~~  
>  21\. ~~Shower sex~~  
>  22\. ~~On the desk~~  
>  23\. ~~Trying a new position~~  
>  24\. ~~Loud sex~~  
>  25\. ~~With Toys~~  
>  26\. ~~Can't make a sound~~  
>  27\. Rough (biting, scratching, etc.)  
> 28\. Role playing  
> 29\. With food  
> 30\. Whatever pleases you

** Day 26: Can't Make a Sound **

I awaken with a hand over my mouth and a dark figure looming over me.

"Shh," he hisses, head turning this way and that as he appears to assess the locations of my bedroom's exits in the dim moonlight. "Don't make a sound. I can snap your neck before his feet hit the floor."

I nod, my heart beating quickly, although I don't believe for a second he intends to kill me. If he did, he would have already. I have no intention of alerting Sam, who is asleep on the couch just outside my bedroom, of the presence of my visitor. The rate of my heart has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the shock of waking up to see him in my own home. The last time I saw him, I was semi-conscious on the banks of the Potomac and he was walking away, saturated with river water after dragging me out of it.

Seemingly satisfied of my compliance, the Winter Soldier withdraws his hand and moves to put a little distance between us, sinking into a cross-legged sitting position on the bed next to me. "Why haven't I killed you?" he asks, his voice so low I can only understand him because of my enhanced hearing.

"How did you find me?" I've moved out of the apartment where the Soldier had attempted to assassinate Fury, and my new address is unregistered with any official agency. I even rented the condo where I now reside under a false name.

He shakes his head, impatient, as though the answer is unimportant. To him, it likely is. "My orders were to exterminate you. You're a threat, and you must be dealt with. _Why haven't I killed you_?"

"Because you know me." I remain flat on my back under the covers, remarkably unafraid of the man who pumped me full of lead, stabbed me, and nearly beat me to death. This could be explained by the fact that he saved my life immediately afterward, but I knew the truth. I wasn't afraid of him because he was Bucky: my closest friend since childhood, my lover since we were teenagers, and my soul mate for the better part of a hundred years.

Bucky – _no_ , I remind myself, _right now he's the Soldier_ – scowls at me, his handsome face icy and murderous, cloaked in shadow and locks of long, dark hair. "Why do I remember you? Why do you matter to me?"

I sigh, wanting to climb into his lap and wrap my arms around him and never let him go, but I know he won't let me get close enough even to try. "You've known me since we were in grammar school. You always protected me from anyone who wanted to hurt me. You backed me up in schoolyard fights, saved me from being beaten up in alleyways—"

Before I can react, he's hunched over me again, this time pressing his lips hard against mine, and he backs away again just as quickly. "Why do I remember _that_?" Even in a near-whisper, his challenging tone is apparent.

I lick my lips, savoring the taste of him, which I'm shocked to discover hasn't changed since the last time we kissed decades ago. "Because," I say, whispering not only to avoid alerting Sam but also to clamp down on the tremor in my words, "we did that all the time."

"Why?"

Smiling a little, I shrugged. "Because it felt good? And because we loved each other, Bu—I mean, Soldier…? What should I call you?"

"I have no name." The stubborn set to his stubble-covered jaw was as familiar as the taste of his lips.

"Of course you do. I told you what your name is. Do you remember?"

"I am the Asset."

"You're more than that," I insist. "You're not a weapon. You're a human being. You're the only person I've ever loved. You're James Buchanan Barnes. I called you Bucky. Do you remember?"

The Soldier huffs a frustrated breath, his frown deepening. "No."

"What _do_ you remember?"

He regards me through his hair for a moment before yanking the covers off me, leaving me completely naked, and climbing on top of me, fully clothed, with his knees on either side of my hips. "I remember this," he grates against my cheek, sliding his flesh hand between his spread thighs to grip my stiffening cock, and I stifle a moan by biting my lips together. "I remember the way you sounded when we did this. You loved it."

My hands itch to touch him, but I don't know how he'll react. "So did you."

His eyes lock with mine as he pulls back, his face inscrutable. He must have concluded I'm not a threat – maybe because I'm lying here beneath him, naked and unafraid, making no move to fight him – because he removes his heavy jacket and drops it on the bed beside us, staring down at me as he peels off his long-sleeved thermal shirt and t-shirt at once.

"Show me," he growls, but there is no threat in his voice, only the rasp of arousal I remember all too well. Without speaking, I move my hands from the sheet beneath me to his thighs, wrapped in dark jeans and much thicker than they were the last time I touched him. I slide my hands over the taut muscle beneath the denim and move them to his waist, gliding my palms up his stomach and over his chest, mapping by feel the scars he has gained over decades of horror and violence. His torso is broad but lean, his ribs standing in sharp relief against the skin covering them.

Every instinct in my body screams to take him in, to hold him, to protect and care for him, but I know he would be gone before I finished speaking if I brought up such a thing. Instead, I do exactly as he asked, knowing free agency is something he hasn't possessed in a very long time and determined to grant it to him in any way I can.

"May I?" I ask as my hands settle on the button of his jeans, and I look at his face to find him watching me, his eyes luminous. He nods, and I will my hands not to tremble as I open the button and slide his zipper down, but the way the denim fits and the spread of his thighs make it impossible for me to go any further. "Would you like me to touch you?" I murmur, and he nods again. "I'd like that too. But we just have to rearrange ourselves a li—"

Before I get the rest of the sentence out, he's already off me, sitting on the edge of the bed to slide his boots off and then standing just long enough to shove his jeans to the floor and kick them aside. He climbs over me and lies on his back beside me, grabbing my wrist and pulling until I get the hint and sit up, swinging one leg over his hips and taking almost the same position atop him as he had me in just moments before. It's impossible to miss how hard he is, and since I've already asked and been granted permission, I reach down and wrap my fingers around his cock. It's familiar enough to send a spike of pain through my heart, his heft and girth filling my hand as perfectly as it always did, his length molding precisely against my own when I lean over to take us both into my hand.

The Soldier lets out a heavy breath, planting his feet on the bed and bending his knees so I fall forward, bracing my free hand on the mattress beside his head. "Show me what we used to do," he whispers, and I swallow hard and nod again, reaching for the bottle of lube on my nightstand. A little thrill runs through me when I realize I've never used it for anything but masturbation, and he and I never used anything quite as specifically engineered, either; Vaseline was dear enough that we were lucky to afford it almost as often as we needed it, and it was the best of the meager options available at the time, anyway.

I prep myself as quickly as I dare, watching him watch me as I finger myself open, unable to tear my gaze away from his face. His eyes are clearer, more _his_ , than any of the times I've seen him since that fateful day on the bridge, and his sculpted red lips are parted to allow his quick breaths passage. He looks more like Bucky at this moment than he has since he _was_ Bucky, and I have to close my eyes against the tears that threaten.

"Look at me."

His voice is a low rumble, barely audible, but it sends a tremor through my body nonetheless. I can't open my eyes yet, still holding unshed tears trapped behind my eyelids. Then he speaks again, just as quietly. "Steve."

My eyes fly open, a hot tear falling from each and tracking down my cheeks, and a whimper leaks from my throat, halting behind my closed lips. He cocks his head to the side, considering me for a few seconds, and then he reaches behind me and wraps his fingers around my wrist, guiding my hand between us. Taking the bottle from my other hand, he squeezes more of the clear gel into my palm and brings my hand to his cock, sighing when I take the hint and slick him.

Neither of us speaks; he reaches for his cock and holds it upright, and I lift myself on my knees and sink onto it, breathing in tiny, desperate gasps as he stretches me, spreads me open, fills me as only he has ever done before. When I'm seated in his lap, my ass touching his pronounced hipbones, he moves both hands to my waist and pushes upward, one quick, sharp thrust to spur me into motion.

I rock my hips against him, heat blooming throughout my body at the motion of his cock inside me. I start slowly, both to give my body time to adjust to the size of him and to prolong this as long as I possibly can, but the unbelievable physical pleasure of it forces me to roll harder and faster against him as the minutes drift past.

Considering our entire sex life thus far took place during the intolerant thirties and forties, either in our respective families' homes or in the thin-walled tenement apartment we shared when we were old enough to live on our own, we had so much practice staying quiet during sex that it should be no great difficulty now; regardless, it's been so long since I touched him in this way that my body reacts much more intensely than I expect, and soft but urgent sounds build in my chest, threatening to spill out with every movement of his body against mine.

"Shh." He grips my ribcage with both hands and shushes me, but the same desperation I feel is plainly visible on his face. Gnawing on my lips, I try holding my breath, but that backfires when its eventual harsh release is accompanied by a low whine. I stare down at him, wide-eyed and frantic, torn between the anxiety of what could happen if Sam overheard – that is, what the Soldier might feel compelled to do – and the unbearable pleasure this man's body creates within mine.

Breathing fast and hard, he sits up and locks his arms behind my back, bringing us face to face. The way he looks at me is indescribable; it's both nothing and everything like the way Bucky used to look at me, and it's the way he looks at me now that brings my orgasm slamming home, my body shuddering and my eyes rolling. When it becomes instantly obvious that I can no longer control the sounds that want to peal forth from my throat, he clutches the back of my head with one hand and drags me into a deep, bruising kiss, catching my low cries in his mouth. With his other hand braced on the bed, he uses the leverage to thrust upward into me until he tenses, groaning softly into my eager mouth as his heat spills deep inside me.

Regrettably soon, he lifts me off his lap and climbs off the bed to dress, only sitting to lace his boots. I want to touch him so badly my fingers twitch, but I don't know how he'll react, so I sit with my back against the headboard and watch him, my chest aching, as he finishes tying his laces and stands to face me.

"You loved me." It's not a question.

"I did," I breathe out. "I still do. I'll never stop, Bucky."

He shakes his head, frowning, and looks away.

"Will I see you again?" I whisper, the act of speaking the question filling me with dread and desolation. I’m honestly not sure I want to hear the answer.

He looks at me without speaking for what feels like a long time. "I don't know," he says at last, anguish cracking open his expression for an instant before he draws it back. "But I haven't been able to stay away from you, and you—you make me _feel_ something, and _I don't feel_."

Lifting my chin with his fingers, he stares at me for a long moment before moving to the window and slipping out into the night, and when he's gone, I pull the blankets over me, curl up on my side, and close my eyes.

I see his face in my dreams, but I always have.

**

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are the peanut butter and jelly in my sandwich! (God, these are getting stupid.)


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